


Easter Shenanigans

by SuperRedRobin (SweetFanfics)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Easter, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:45:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/SuperRedRobin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accepting the call, he greets Tim. “Happy Bunny Day Birdboy!”</p><p>“I’m calling in a favor.” Tim’s cool voice comes through the receiver. “Fly over here right now before I commit justifiable homicide on my brothers.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easter Shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Easter Shenanigans 复活节恶作剧](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1473037) by [llletusw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/llletusw/pseuds/llletusw)



Dick looks up from the egg he’s trying to color in his hands. “Damian…what is  _that_?”  
  


“A portrait of Drake. Can’t you see the resemblance?”   
  


It’s at the tip of his tongue to point out that it looks more like a bird from Angry Birds but Tim’s indignant voice cuts him off. Dick sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as the pair enter into their fourth squabble of the morning. Why the pair insists on  _baiting_  each other and going for it hook, line  _and sinker_  is beyond him.  
  


And Jason isn’t helping the mood at all by ‘accidentally’ dropping  _raw_  eggs on everyone’s heads. Dick hears a cracking sound in double, along with two voices yelling out Jason’s name and sighs.  _‘Why can’t we have just_ one _normal holiday?’_  He half whines to himself as Jason offers an ‘apology’.  
  


“Whoops. Missed the bowl.”  
  


“With those broken hands of yours its a wonder you can even fight!” Damian snaps, trying to get the wet yolk out of his hair.   
  


“It’s his  _brains_  that’re broken. Tim grumbles, wiping the egg off his face.

Dick sighs again and wishes that Alfred were here. But Alfred’s been trying to smoke Bruce out of his self-imposed exile in his study. It’s always 4 hours into any family holiday that Dick starts to think that Bruce might be onto something by avoiding being in the same room with his whole brood.  
  


It’s frankly  _incredible_  how its the boys who always wind up making more noise than the girls. Cassanda and Stephanie are diligently working away on their eggs. Cassandra in particular. All her eggs have beautiful designs on them. It’s a wonder she’s been able to pull off making such intricate and delicate designs given the way she keeps side eying Tim and Damian’s arguments.   
  


 _‘There’s a trick I want to learn…’_  Dick muses, swirling his brush around in the water container. Stephanie has the tip of her tongue peeking out between her lips, carefully painting her eggs purple.  _‘Eggplant.’_ he corrects himself, watching her painting a simple black and white pattern on the shell.  
  


Alfred makes a sudden reappearance with Bruce in tow. Who looks more uncomfortable than a cat in a room full of small children and rocking chairs. He quietly sits down between Dick and Cassandra, staring at the small batch of white eggs sitting in front of him.  
  


“He finally got you out huh?” Dick starts conversationally.   
  


Bruce looks somewhere between miserable and guilty when he picks a brush up. “Alfred can be very… _convincing_  when he wants to be.”  
  


He makes a low noise of agreement, watching the old man stare down his younger brothers into their seats. Jason slides into his seat, almost pouting that his fun has been spoiled. And, miracles of miracles, Tim and Damian actually don’t argue for a good half an hour.  
  


Which is also apparently the limit on how long Jason can behave himself because he starts flicking the people around him with paint. Which mean’s trying to splatter paint on Tim and Dick’s faces.   
  


Dick can feel a twitch starting in his eyebrow as he feels yet more wet splatters landing on his cheek. “Jason…” he warns darkly.  
  


“What?” Jason offers him an innocent look, “It’s the brush!”  
  


“And Mother Theresa was Ultraman.” Tim replies angrily, one hand already trying to rub the paint off his cheek but succeeding more in smearing it over his face. Dick picks up the wet rag he’s been using to wipe his hands clean from time to time and walks over to Tim.   
  


“Here, lemme help.” He states, taking away Tim’s hand before gently scrubbing the damp cloth over Tim’s face. He’s managed to get almost all of the red and blue paint off Tim’s paint when Stephanie lets out a loud screech, which makes Damian (who had just gotten up holding his dirty water jar in his hand) bump into Tim’s chair and dump the mud colored water all over Tim’s head.  
  


Dick would have  _liked_  to say that there was a moment of silence after that. But Stephanie’s too busy chasing Jason out of the room while promising bloody murder. So it takes a while before it gets quiet again in the room. Dick starts to count down, just waiting for Tim to blow the last bit of fuse he’s got left.  
  


But he’s surprised when Tim calmly wipes the excess water off his face and hands. And oddly, pulls out his phone. Damian gives him a wary, cautious look and Dick asks, “Er, Tim? You alright?”  
  


Either Tim doesn’t hear him or is choosing to ignore him as he holds the phone up to his ear. There’s a good chance of both really.   
  


—  
  


“What do you think?” Clark asks Lois, holding his finished egg up in front of him.  
  


“Not to shabby.” Lois compliments, “Better than that squiggly idea you had before.”  
  


Kon misses Clark’s reply when he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. Dropping his brush into a jar of water, he pulls his phone out. And grins at the displayed name.  
  


Accepting the call, he greets Tim. “Happy Bunny Day Birdboy!”  
  


“I’m calling in a favor.” Tim’s cool voice comes through the receiver. “Fly over here right  _now_ before I commit justifiable homicide on my brothers.”  
  


He can hear Dick’s hurt babbling, Damian’s angry ranting, Alfred’ reproach and can  _sense_ Batman’s disapproving glare in the small silence that follows. “It can’t be  _that_  bad…” Can it?   
  


“I have paint in my hair, on my face and if I have to sit with Jason for one more  _minute_  and listen to him singing ‘99 eggs on the wall’, I really will kill him.”  
  


“Say no more.” Kon wants to laugh so badly at this point but that would just put him in the dog house. “I’m on my way.”   
  


“Hurry.” Tim replies before hanging up. Kon finally gets show his amusement, chuckling at the thought of the Red Hood singing as he stands up. Clark gives him a curious look from behind his dark frame.  
  


“Something wrong?”  
  


Kon shakes his head, pushing the chair back in. “Tim. Wants me to go get him.”  
  


“Ah.” Clark hums knowingly. Even Lois’s expression suddenly shifts to one of sudden understanding.  
  


“What?” Kon asks in slight confusion. “Am I missing a back story here?”  
  


“Lets just say that the Wayne family holidays are…” Clark trails off, clearly looking for the right word.  
  


“Chaotic.” Lois finishes, dipping into the red paint delicately.   
  


“I was going to go with different but…that’s more accurate.” Clark replies.  
  


“Come on.” Kon scoffs. “How bad could they be?”  
  


“Wait till someone’s birthday comes up.” Lois snorts, carefully painting a zig-zag pattern. “You’ll be singing a different tune then.”  
  


“No, seriously,  _how_  crazy could they get?” Kon asks.   
  


Clark and Lois exchange an amused look, which kind of irritates him really. Feels as though he’s on the outside of an inside joke. “You’ll see.” Clark promises, pushing his glasses up. “Better hurry up though. Things always start to go south past lunch.”  
  


Still feeling left out, Kon leaves the farm behind. Flying towards Gotham, Kon can’t help but wonder if maybe Clark and Lois had been exaggerating.  
  


—  
  


One cross country flight later, Kon realizes that they had been making an understatement.   
  


He stares at the usually eating area that looks as though several color bombs have gone off in it. And at the people who are still fighting amongst themselves. Or trying to drink themselves into forgetting their ordeals.   
  


And then there’s Tim who is having an  _egg_  fight with Jason and Damian, while being _slathered_  in all kinds of paint colors. Dick hides with him behind the island, mixing paint into small water containers and shaking them as though he’s making a martini. Stehp is yelling something but Kon can’t make it out because Damian’s shouts mix in with her words and make it all sound like a flock of angry seagulls.  
  


Kon hovered by the door, quickly closing it as a glob of paint flies dangerous close to him. Instead it hits the wall barely two feet away. He pushes the door open again, peering around the edge at the mayhem and wonders who managed to land all that yellow paint on Bruce’s head.  
  


“I assume Master Timothy still hasn’t noticed your arrival Master Kent?” Alfred’s crisp question makes him turn around with a jump.  
  


“Alfred!” he exclaims way too loudly. “Man, you guys sure know how to sneak up on others!” And then returns to peek at the color fight, “Yeah, he still hasn’t noticed. I think he’s having too much fun…”   
  


Kon lets the door fall shut, turning around to look at Alfred. “How exactly did coloring eggs turn into a color fight anyways?”  
  


There’s a strange twinkle in the old man’s eyes as he replies calmly, “Well we all have our holiday traditions. Some of them more… _quirky_  than others.”  
  


“You got that right…” Kon mutters, eying the door.


End file.
